


Sky Full Of Sugar

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fullofsugar!verse [7]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Jared, Consensual Underage Sex, Crossdressing, Feminization, Genderfluid Jared, Genderplay, Kink Negotiation, Light Mentions of Eating Disorders, Lolita Jared, M/M, Nipple Play, Secret Relationship, Sex Toys, Sexual Experimentation, Teacher Jensen, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8660974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: One of Jensen's birthday presents for Jared is a week-long vacation out in the country.





	

Christmas should be spent with one’s family, so Jensen does that. Not without seeing Jared the day before he takes his plane, of course. Not like Jensen would need that, no; it’s just that Jared doesn’t take separations so well. (Seriously. Shut up.)

The fairy lights were on and Jared was wearing the soft white sweater from so long ago. Sparkling cheeks, lacey skirt, no socks. Jensen’s heating bills have never been this high, but then again he never before had to house an embodied snowflake either.

With Jared growing so fast these days, buying expensive clothing makes little to no sense. Jensen soothes the poor thing almost every day, wipes away frowns with kisses and repeats for the hundredth time that Jared doesn’t have to worry, still perfect, no, Jensen will _not_ become disgusted of him. (It’s better that way, actually: the less fragile Jared looks, the easier it is for Jensen to forget about his actual age.)

Watching Jared unwrap presents never ceases to be fun. As always, his glee was wholeheartedly, honestly, warm. And then, he had unearthed a little box of his own. For Jensen.

Jensen’s eyes are watching the plane cutting through clouds and the fingers of his left hand stroke along the seams of his new dress shirt. It fits perfectly. Jared admitted to having snooped around Jensen’s wardrobe so he would get the size right. Jensen hadn’t been mad.

Jared sewed a heart into the tag (bright, heart-red). Jared had slept in it (“to break it in, Mr. Ackles. It was super stiff, even after washing.”).

Jensen will wear it among his family, will hug them with his kitten-perfumed shirt, and they will have no idea.

His heart already breaks for the fact that he will eventually have to wash it.

~

Kitten turned on the fairy lights before she joined Jensen on the bed. She switches to Jensen’s neck once his mouth bores her. Her crotch is riding Jensen’s thigh. Jensen is still in jeans and she is wearing a nightgown at five thirty in the afternoon.

Snow outside. Storm in Jensen’s chest.

She’s burning up, up, up.

She nibbles and she bites. Poor Carrie had looked pissed when she made a joke about Jensen’s new girlfriend apparently being a vampire.

For every hickey Jensen isn’t allowed to mark Jared with, Jared gives him two.

 _C’mon, at least keep it below shirt collar height, baby_ , doesn’t mean so much when your mouth is as hungry as Jared Tristan’s.

Everything _below_ shirt collar is much more of a discussion, though. “Can I?” he asks every time, and Jensen declines, “Not today,” all of these times. Jensen’s cock hates him maybe just as much as Jared’s fingers hate him. Or mouth. Or everything.

The zipper of his jeans bites through his underwear when Jared sucks on Jensen’s skin like that. Enough to hurt (in a good way). Jared is kneading his nipples with an efficiency that makes Jensen mourn for the girls Jared could pleasure like this if he was a little less princess, a little more prince. Jensen returns the gesture, two-handed. Jared is gasping and Jensen’s thigh feels damper with every rut.

Jensen stifles a groan when Jared’s unoccupied hand steals itself between his legs. Flat palm, pressure, sizing Jensen up. His hips shove into the much-needed (and highly unappreciated) contact. They had talked about this. Over the clothes is okay. In moderation.

Jared comes fastest with Jensen’s dick in his hand.

~

As traditional as the principal is, he had declared to be less strict when it comes to “gendering colors” in applications of the dress code. Officially, Mrs. Padalecki yelling at him for half an hour didn’t have anything to do with his decision.

“There you go, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Jared is wearing pastel colors whenever he can. He managed to sneak some of Jensen’s presents into his home. He must be explaining them by being economic with his babysitting payments. Jensen is both thrilled and mortified to see him walking around with their secret all over him; for everyone to see.

It’s the purple sweatshirt today. Lace-trimmed collar neck. Jensen had bought it oversized for the cute effect. Now, Jared’s shoulders fill it out completely. The sleeves don’t hang over his wrists anymore.

Jared still sits in the front row, still is Jensen’s best student. Still throws longing in the form of batted lashes and dreamy-pink cheeks when everyone else is looking at their phone instead up front at Jensen and the blackboard. Hands Jensen the class’ works just to smoothen himself back into his seat, all lady grace in “no, sir, Mr. principal, sir, these are _boy_ jeans, promise”-girl-jeans.

Jared gets his Mr. Ackles some chapstick because Mr. Ackles licks his lips way too much and insistently these days.

~

“Please.”

Jensen’s eyes are closed.

“Please please please. Please, sir. Only for a second.”

Jared Tristan’s hands could make him cream his pants easily if Jensen wasn’t getting off every time right before Jared comes over. Prolonged pleasure or something (‘dignity’ or something). But Jared has been working him for almost an hour now, and Jensen can feel himself slicking right through denim.

Jensen is a good man, but even a good man remains a _man_.

“Okay,” he breathes.

It’s almost dark. No fairy lights. Storm outside. The windows rattle. Jensen thinks he can hear his and Jared’s hearts despite the turmoil.

Propped up against the headboard as he is, Jensen watches Jared undoing his fly as if it was a sacred thing to do. Careful. Wide-eyed. Faint traces of lip gloss (they share those).

They’ve been here before. This is okay. This is still…not too bad. Not as corrupting.

Jared’s hand is wrapped around Jensen’s dick as soon as it sprung from the too-careful peel of underwear, and Jensen’s eyes fall closed, his mouth open. He babbles, “Oh god,” and hopes not to be heard.

Jensen is trembling and Jared is completely calm. Warm, warm, damp palm, strong fingers, just right on the first stroke, already a miracle, a _blessing_ , and Jensen’s belly quivers with a stuttered breath.

“Suh… slow,” begs Jensen and, “Yeah,” whispers Jared.

Jared will brush their lips together out of nowhere when Jensen will start to come, and Jensen will startle and gasp and groan. Will get his tongue sucked on while Jared’s hand milks every last drop from him, but god help him, he won’t allow Jared to lick his hand clean.

~

Maybe beard burns are just as bad as hickeys. Nevertheless, Jensen spreads them over the insides of Jared’s thighs. If They check between a fifteen-year-old’s baby legs, They’re not any better than Jensen in the first place.

Jared is trembling. Jensen can smell his copiously leaking dick from here as if he was smothering his face in the mess. He isn’t, though.

There’s a murmur and Jensen’s eyes shoot up to a bitten lip. “What?” He didn’t hear.

“I said: can you tie me up again?” Shameless-guilty blush, all the way down to Jared’s chest (Jared Tristan is pink _everywhere_ ). As if it needed to be added, “Like last time?”

Jensen’s stomach cramps but he nods. (Blame his dick. Blame Jared’s begging eyes. It’s all the same.)

Jensen gets up on weak knees to retrieve the ribbons Jared likes him to use. He had shown Jensen pictures, had explained in a hushed voice and a bulge twitching under his skirt. Jared becomes the most tender, the squirmiest and most pliant little thing when he orders Jensen to take control.

While Jensen fixes Jared’s first wrist to the headboard of his princess bed, kitten already purrs, “Maybe my ankles, too? Please?”

Jensen keeps his eyes fixed on the knot he is tying. The limp, slim wrist. He decides, “No,” just firm enough for Jared to accept it.

Jensen doesn’t feel firm at all.

“Can we pretend you took me on a date and then home for coffee? And then you decided you don’t wanna wait anymore? That I’ve teased you long enough?”

Jared’s long, long legs fold around Jensen’s waist while he sweet-talks. Pull him in. Spread-wide, panties riding up. Jensen can feel it on the bare inside of his thigh. He took off his jeans today, and maybe he shouldn’t have.

“You could play with my tits,” kitten suggests. “Get ’em out. Suck ’em sore. Spank ’em.”

Jensen is one tug away from securing the second binding, and he blinks at it, rapidly, before he flinches away from it.

“No. No. Wait. Uh.”

Palms covering his face, sensation of cold sweat. Jensen inches backwards on his knees, Jared’s legs sliding off like slick, too-smooth snakes.

“I—I can’t do this.”

Jared is right there, hands falling to Jensen’s shoulders (Jensen never ties the knots too strict; it’s just a game). Breath ghosting, but Jensen doesn’t see, is still hiding.

“Sorry. I can’t. Sorry.”

“Okay. Okay. Shhh. It’s okay, Mr. Ackles.”

“I’m sorry. This is…”

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s okay.”

Fingers comb through Jensen’s hair. Jensen takes deep, deep breaths in the security of his self-made panic room, tries to calm his heart and the rising bile. Dizziness.

“We don’t have to do it,” assures Jared (who is still petting Jensen’s head). “It was just a stupid little idea. No big deal.”

Jensen huffs, “Okay.” Kiss to Jensen’s knuckles. Fingers still in his hair, calming him. Again, “Okay.” Jensen leans forward, just a tiny little bit, and Jared is right there to bed him against his chest. “Okay.”

They remain still for a while, until Jared asks if Jensen is okay. Instead of scaring the kid, Jensen murmurs that maybe a cup of coffee would be good right now. Jared helps him downstairs, parks Jensen on the sofa and hurries to the coffee machine while Jensen thinks of a plan to drink without puking it right out again.

Jared brings him a steaming cup, clasped securely in both hands. He’s still in his little negligee and his hair is so long now, curling and flopping around his ears. He’s obviously worried and eyes Jensen painfully closely as he hands over the drink.

When Jensen tries a calming smile, Jared puts his hand on his shoulder. Feels like “you don’t have to”, so Jensen drops the act. The coffee, despite all worries, does help.

Jensen’s cup is empty by now, and Jared runs his relentless fingers through Jensen’s hair, along his jawline. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I...I don’t like doing it. That kind of stuff,” confesses Jensen. His hand is resting on Jared’s knee; the other fumbles with the peach fuzz on Jared’s forearm. “The…” He frowns. “The bondage things. Or the spankings.”

“’Cause you’re afraid to hurt me?”

“Amongst other reasons, yeah.”

Kiss to Jensen’s temple. “What other reasons?”

“I don’t like it. I dunno.” Tip-tap of fingers over Jared’s thigh. Jensen smiles, embarrassed, as he adds, “Guess I’m too vanilla. Or somethin’ like that. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Not at all.”

“But _you_ like it.” Frills to pick at; good.

“So what? I like whatever you say is okay. I ain’t mad.” Jared nuzzles Jensen’s neck. All soft and warm and close; and safe. “Don’t apologize. You said it yourself: we won’t do anything if one of us doesn’t feel like doing it. It goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

A kiss. Sweetest, softest boy-hands on Jensen’s bearded cheeks.

Terrifying, the depths of all the things Jared can make him feel.

“You’re so sweet, Mr. Ackles, that it makes me ache.”

~

Jensen gets a lot of Valentine’s Day cards this year, but he only keeps a single one.

~

The bullies are getting more aggressive. Jared wears his bruises as proudly as if they were jewelry. Between worry and fury and professionalism, Jensen barely has enough energy to work. Detention is enriched with at least one homophobic little brat per week.

It’s not like Jensen doesn’t do _anything_ —he just can’t do _all_ he wants to do. Like throwing punches. Bending braces. Phoning stuck-up parents.

He almost cries tears of joy when Leyla asks him to join her gender issues project—he never could have volunteered himself. (Don’t draw the spotlights to you, Ackles. Undercover. Stay low. Eyes up front.)

Jared doesn’t cry and Jared only starts hitting back once everyone with two functioning eyes can tell he did not start the fight. You don’t get hit that hard, that often, when you’re the one starting it.

Kids are cruel. Jensen never wore clothes like Jared or let his hair grow as long as Jared, but his face was reason enough for nicknames or a beating (or two) or laughter, singing.

But Jensen never looked them in the eye like Jared does. Never dared a smirk like Jared does.

Jared doesn’t provoke it, but he won’t let it touch him either.

“They can call me faggot all day long if they want,” kitten dares in the safe pinkness of her princess room, her Mr. Ackles at her feet, cradling those while frowning at a scabbing shin. “I still win.”

She grins at that. Self-confident with her shining wet lips, bra strap flashing under a too-sheer top. Skirt way too short (again).

If Jensen had been half as confident as her, what kind of man would he be today?

~

She lets him feel her up while watching a movie. He told her not to wear a bra so he can pluck and rub at her through her too airy blouse, behind the popcorn bowl she’s balancing in both hands. She complains at first when he shoves the sweets away but then opens her legs a little more when his hand dives under the hem of her skirt.

Fingers can fucking stumble. Jensen is starry-eyed from the things Jared Tristan teaches him.

Kitten peers up under her lashes, cheeks flushed with anticipation and what must be Jensen plastered all over her side.

She asks, “Do you like it?”

He chokes, “Did it hurt?”

“Not much.”

Jensen doesn’t usually touch here that much (too bad, too horrible, you reallyreally shouldn’t) but oh god, it’s so smooth and unexpected. He remembers when his flings were waxed this bare, or when Danni had it done.

Treat. Baby.

“Did it yourself?”

“Hay wanted to try it.” Her breath is a hot mark against Jensen’s neck. “We did it to each other.”

Jensen bites his tongue and mouths around kitten’s lips until she lets him in, doesn’t allow himself to make a sound since he is too afraid what he might sound like if he did. He has his left hand drifting across Jared’s pubis, into the crease where leg meets hips. Jared is sweating here, so fucking warm.

His leg falls a little more outwards so that Jensen, if Jensen would do it, could let his fingers dip lower, feel down his balls, his taint.

Someone is saving the world on screen while Jensen breaks apart a small one of his own.

Jared gasps. Hasn’t seen that coming (and isn’t the only one). Could and should say something now, right now, if this is more than he bargained for, and maybe Jensen should remind him of that just to make sure. But Jensen keeps kissing, keeps petting.

He’s never done this. Fondling someone else’s balls.

Feels weird. Mostly in the way that they’re so smooth—like a kid’s must be. But the size won’t match.

It’s surreal.

Jared quivers with a sigh when Jensen doesn’t think and curls two fingers around Jared’s dick like a ring. Quivers more when Jensen moves his hand, slowly, upwards. Digs his fingers into Jensen’s thigh harder on the down stroke.

Velvet on Jensen’s palm, popcorn butter on his tongue.

Jared curls his arms around Jensen’s neck and hikes his legs up so so high when Jensen guides him to lie down on his back, keeps sucking on Jensen’s lip and bites before Jensen can pull free.

She is looking up at him with bewilderment all over her face. Wonder-wide and lovely. He kisses her neck until she tugs too hard on his hair, listens to her hitching breath all the while he keeps jerking her cock. His. Jared’s.

Jensen knees backwards, slowly, gently, kisses down her chest, noses at a nipple. Her heart jackrabbits in there, right under his lips. The backs of her knees on his shoulders are as lightweight as if they weren’t there at all; almost.

Lower.

Lower.

Her bellybutton is so flat that not even one lonely jelly bean could be balanced in it. Jensen swirls his tongue over it nevertheless. Feels like he’s sticking it right into Jared’s hard little belly.

Just an inch lower, and he...

Jensen barely gets the words out, but he has to, _has to_ ask.

“Can I?”

Her fingers soften in his hair along with her trembling, “Uh-huh,” double the invitation for Jensen to do whatever he wants. Jensen doesn’t even need one.

Jensen had felt very anxious when he had pictured this before and now realizes he was overthinking it. The first lick across the wet tip of Jared’s cockhead feels so natural, so exciting, and it reacts immediately too, ticks up to kiss back at Jensen’s lips and neither of them expected the quick contact, and Jared gasps and Jensen is now on a goddamn mission.

With Jared and him, it’s never about technique, not even really about orgasm. It’s not a race, not a show-off. It’s about reinventing, about making up, about try and error and learning. So, this is not about sucking dick. This is about getting to know this part of Jared. Just like learning how Jared likes to be kissed behind his ear—how does he like to have his dick kissed?

Jensen does just that—smothering the tip, head tilted up to watch Jared’s eyes fluttering, his lips pressing.

A small, _small_ , “Mh,” at a lap to his frenulum. Jensen is enrapt. Does it again. Makes the entire hard length twitch with circles of the tip of his tongue.

Absolutely no thought goes into catching the new swell of liquid right from Jared’s slit. Slick, heavy, a little salty-soapy. Different from a woman’s, obviously, but Jensen imagines finding something similar somewhere in between. He likes this ‘in between’.

Jensen takes his time. He always does. Kitten-flicks and kisses, barely a touch, but he covers every patch of skin. Jared’s dick can barely catch up with replacing Jensen’s spit with precome, and Jensen is happy to dip the very tip inside, just to see what it does to Jared (since he loves it having done to himself). His kitten sighs.

One arm curled around her right thigh to keep it up, one thumbing at the sharp edge of her hipbone. The skirt is flipped over her belly, somewhat sideways so Jensen can still see that adorable navel. Jared is so thin. The hairlessness does its part in that, too, no doubt.

Or, maybe, the size of his cock. Jensen is pretty sure he hadn’t been that big at Jared’s age.

He ponders if he should tell him that or if it would upset Jared. Kitten probably doesn’t want to be told she has a huge dick. Not a very girly trait.

Jensen likes it nevertheless.

“You’re so cute like that,” he whispers. Cute is always good.

Jared makes a flustered sound that turns into another dreamy sigh when Jensen drags his pursed lips along the length of his shaft. The way up comes with a stiff tongue.

Jared’s hips hitch.

Jensen says, “You can come in my mouth if you want to,” before he tucks Jared’s cock past his lips.

It takes Jared two slow and slower drifts across Jensen’s tongue before he seizes, hard, and fills Jensen’s mouth.

Jensen splutters a bit because Jared pushes up and deeper in while pulling Jensen’s head lower, down, but one hand pins Jared easily enough while Jensen strains to keep his head up. He watches Jared thrashing, how he tries to mumble a, “Sorry,” but fails, withdraws his shaking hands and brings them to his mouth, bites a knuckle before brushing through his own hair, then groping back into Jensen’s. His eyes are closed but moving non-stop; Jensen can tell by the stutter of those lashes even in this low light, and he comes a lot, and Jensen doesn’t stop flicking his tongue until Jared whines. Then goes a little slower. He doesn’t let up until kitten raises her head and fumbles with Jensen’s ears, almost pulling on them.

A little ragdoll, this one. Boneless and warm.

Jensen kisses down a tender sac, along a familiar crease of an inner thigh (so so so high up, now so so so very close).

She pushes and pulls until she has his kissing mouth right next to her taint. He’s the one straining now, again, doesn’t dare to go further to check just how thoroughly Jared’s little girlfriend had been with the wax. So he licks up again and she sighs, maybe even sounds a little relieved; hard to tell.

“Kiss me,” she says.

Jensen had swallowed everything as soon as it had hit the inside of his cheeks, and the thought comes back to him almost violently when her tongue curls around his.

He thinks back to so very long ago when everything was horrifying and new, how he had licked his own sticky fingers once, just to see what it’s like. Pure curiosity with an ugly twinge of shame. These small, secret things you can never share with anyone.

Teenage come and buttery sugar mix, and it’s really, really good.

(The kind of good you know you should be ashamed of, but aren’t.)

~

The vacation hasn’t really started yet but already cost Jensen a good ten years of his life. He’s closing in on that heart attack sometime soon, eyes switching back and forth between the car radio’s digital clock and the heartbreakingly empty parking spot of the train station they decided to meet at. His fingers are curling so hard around his chin that he’s faintly aware of the pressure-pain all the way through his horror.

It’s his own fault. His own fucking idea. God, he hates himself sometimes.

When Jared finally, finally rounds the corner, it’s two minutes before their meeting time and the relief washing over Jensen makes him breathe so deeply he’s dizzy from it (or maybe he just didn’t really breathe for a too long span of time up to here).

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Where should I...?”

“Jus’ throw it in the trunk; it’s open.”

“Okay.”

Jensen eyes himself in the rearview mirror like he is the teen here, all insecure and oh god he looks so awful. It’s been hellish long three hours since he left off and he’s on two big and moreover strong coffees, but the sight of Jared—hauling his sports bag off his shoulder and into the trunk, glancing at Jensen with his face set in just the same nervous anticipation as him—works Jensen like a warm knife would work a piece of butter.

Jared opens the passenger door and climbs in. His hand is on top of Jensen’s on the gearstick as soon as the seat belt has been secured.

Jensen turns his hand so they are palm to palm. Their fingers interlace immediately.

“Did you have a safe trip?”

Jared’s smile is blinding. “Yes.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Jensen leans in to kiss Jared on the mouth—more or less in public, in the front seat of his car. He’s fucking terrified, yeah, but then again he hasn’t felt this alive in years. Judging by the way Jared melts into the kiss, he feels the same.

It’s been a mess up to here but they made it somehow. Two hundred miles from home, just the two of them, five entire days. For them, that’s crazy long.

Jensen excused himself with family business (urgent, secret, puppy eyes) and Jared dreamt up a pen pal (“that kids still do that nowadays, now isn’t that _cute_ ”).

Up to here, it’s been so fucking easy ( _too_ easy) that it only _can_ make them that much more nervous.

Sixty more miles until they reach the cabin. Nothing but fields surrounding them, only a few cars strewn across the otherwise deserted streets. Jared toed off his sneakers and curls his naked toes on top of the car console. One arm dangles out of the rolled-down window and his too-big big brother shirt flaps around his body, makes it looks so delicate, easy to break. Jensen bought candy and Jared goes through it by the handful, throws Jensen a glance or plucks at the tip of a teacher-finger every now and then. Jensen had popped a copy of The Smiths’ _Strangeways_ into the stereo and if Jared is opposed to the choice, he sure sits through it with a lot of patience.

And so it comes to Jensen that this is real. That this is happening. They’re here, and it’s real, and he’s doing this.

Took this boy away from home. Is driving towards a cabin, far from the rest of the civilization. Has a trunk filled with girl clothes and knowingly bad intentions.

Jensen takes a breath, two, and keeps his eyes on the road while he lets Jared finger-feed him a piece of candy between his lips.

And it’s okay. It’s okay.

He wants this.

~

“And? What do you say?”

“It’s _amazing_ ,” vows Jared who would gladly sleep underneath a bridge as long as Jensen would be the one spending the night with him there. The living room looks full with him already. God, he’s grown. Almost up to Jensen’s eye level now (and it breaks the kid’s heart so much). Jensen has the secret plan to stuff Jared with as much food as possible (and responsible) within these upcoming days. The skinniness is edging on ‘worrying’. Jared denies that, of course, but Jensen hopes the unfamiliar settings will help him set some things straight. New perspective and all.

He got his hands on the cabin through an old friend of his dad. It’s tiny but has everything you would need for a short stay; even electricity. No TV though, but hey, Jared is easy to entertain.

Jensen could literally make Jared sit in one spot for _hours_ just by flashing a few inches of chest under a not even nice button-down while fucking reading a book. The bible, for example. Jared is so desperate it’s almost sad.

There’s a king sized bed upstairs, an old, sat-through couch in the corner Jared is facing while dropping his bag, starting to rid himself of his cargo shorts. Jensen watches Jared eyeing the fireplace. The only thing missing here would be the polar bear rug. There are blankets upstairs though. Jensen had checked.

Jared Tristan is a miracle just standing there, letting his pants drop down, directing his eyes to Jensen. A little exhibitionistic, maybe, but then again there’s nobody around for miles.

Yeah, Ackles. Nobody but you.

Powerful. There is no other word for how Jared draws him in. Like a magnet. Their little solar system; Sun Jared and Planet Jensen. Jared would assign the roles differently, of course. Maybe Planet Ackles and Moon Tristan. Jared makes him feel ten feet tall—like a god. Like everything Jensen does is a gift, a ceremony, destiny.

Jensen thinks about that a lot. Thinks about it even now, with the half-naked teen walking towards him, lining his body up with Jensen’s, one hand against Jensen’s heart. Thinks that this is wrong, and he’s using the kid, and he really shouldn’t.

Jensen usually manages to stop the thinking by the time Jared is all dolled up, but the only things girly on Jared now are his purple lace panties and the tenderness of Jensen’s kiss, and that’s enough.

“Still can’t believe this is happening.”

Kitten whispers it as if someone could jump out at them from behind the sofa, rip them apart, put both of them in handcuffs.

Jensen makes a sympathetic sound before he runs his fingers through Jared’s hair, cups his head, kisses him again. Jared sighs for it. The hand not currently resting on Jensen’s chest goes straight to the fly of his jeans. Jensen’s eyes roll under a testing squeeze and rub. Jared pecks kisses and keeps his hand moving until half-mast becomes more.

It’s not supposed to be a sex vacation. A sexcation. No.

They had discussed this.

“You haven’t even seen the other rooms yet,” Jensen murmurs, but backs up until he finds the doorframe to prop himself up against. “Don’t you wanna see ’em first?”

“Later.”

Jensen feels Jared’s breath on his dick before he lets himself accept the fact that this boy drops to his knees as naturally as he picks up other people’s trash in the school hallway. By the time there are lips and kisses, Jensen’s fingers bore into the doorframe. There hasn’t been much change since Jensen allowed it to happen the first time, two weeks ago (when Jared turned sweet sixteen with an extra ‘sweet’, and Jensen goes to hell all over again)—Jensen’s dick still is pretty much nothing but a test object for Jared’s mouth. Jensen can last _so freaking long_ like this since Jared doesn’t know what he’s doing...but Jared also is a quick learner and watches way too much porn. Jensen’s days are numbered.

All the silence is a tease for Jensen; he’s sure, is being listened to, to the small huffs and sounds of pleasure Jared uses as a guide for pretty much everything he does around Jensen. Jared’s kitten-tongue has him dry and aching, throbbing in two eager hands holding him steady for a nursing mouth. Jensen holds on. Doesn’t look away from the shyly closed eyes, the pornstar-pursed lips.

Things kind of escalate when Jared, after some solid moments of nothing but nibbling and kissing and small licks, drops his jaw and swallows Jensen down. Way past half of the total length. Almost to the base.

Jensen’s body can’t decide between being shocked, being amazed, being aroused. He ends up shuddering, hiccupping his breath, reaching for Jared’s cheek. He rubs his thumb over the bone hidden somewhere so close underneath the skin, and Jared looks up, eyes a little teary but mouth back to the tip (high school innocent).

He lisps, “I practiced,” and does it again just to prove that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth.

Jensen might rush hot all over, but he won’t fucking admit being jealous of a goddamn cucumber.

~

Small bedroom and smaller bathroom upstairs, kitchen, back in the living room. Upon request kitten shares that she isn’t hungry, thank you, and Jensen is out of text and suggests taking a walk. Kitten beams. Her first time in a dress—outside. He takes her hand, and so they walk.

The grass is knee-high and deep green. Wheat outnumbers trees. A gentle breeze soothes the lack of shadow and sends Jared’s sundress dancing around his shins. Jensen didn’t change into shorts and feels sorry for himself, but Jared never lets go of his hand, no matter how sweaty it gets.

The house is out of sight and so is the road. Nothing but peaceful, vibrant nature. This is the beginning of a spring turning into a summer.

No matter how long Jensen stares into the fields, they won’t inspire a single answer. He isn’t even sure what his questions are. With Jared, it’s so easy to get lost in silence. Maybe to get lost in general.

“Have you been here before?” (Oh, that silent ‘with someone else?’.)

“Yes. But it’s been a long time. Nothing has changed around here though. I like that. Makes you feel kinda safe, you know? Knowing that some things stay the same forever.”

“I get what you mean.”

And that’s honest. The truth. Being understood by a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t make Jensen this confident.

Jared’s hand slip-slides in Jensen’s as he turns towards him, and the corner of Jensen’s vision couldn’t miss the lick of lips if it tried.

“It’s pretty,” kitten murmurs with her mouth already halfway on Jensen’s.

It’s Jensen’s knees that bend first, just like it’s Jensen who pulls kitten on top of himself, who keeps brushing her hair back behind her ears, who will go home with grass stains on his clothes. He is okay with all of it. She’s a little sweaty too. Maybe the pink of her cheeks is a beginning sunburn and not the same wrong-amazing-perfect extra heartbeat Jensen has at how this is happening outside of four solid, opaque walls; this little big thrill of danger, of freedom. She huffs and squirms while Jensen helps her out of her panties, and she has a small pout dancing over her mouth, a frown plucking at her brow when she settles back over Jensen’s lap, warm and damp and heavy (a promise). She grinds down and sucks her lips between her teeth, has her hands balancing her weight on Jensen’s already-heavy chest.

She crumbles with his, “Not like that,” but her eyes go cherry pie wide when he urges her to turn around instead. She scrambles to please, as always, and Jensen is light-headed even before he flips her dress over her back.

Almost silent; a held breath, hands frozen midway on Jensen’s fly and the heartache underneath. Jensen pulls her a little more backwards, until he almost doesn’t have to strain his neck anymore to let his tongue dip between her spread-apart cheeks.

Kitten trembles. Her tension is palpable, right there underneath Jensen’s palms, underneath his tongue, little-tall body burning up where it hovers in a virgin-white sundress on top of Jensen.

Jensen hums to make a point, and Jared almost sobs.

Sweet sixteen. Maybe too soon. But Jared had asked for it before.

Jensen kisses it as if it was Jared’s mouth, and it loves it just the same. Quivers just the same. Kisses back, too.

Jensen buries his face deeper.

It’s unimportant when Jared is collected enough to continue his earlier quest to pull Jensen’s cock from his jeans. What counts is the distant-close humming of insects, of whispering grass all around them. What counts is the smell of the fields, of summer, and how Jared’s skin slips under Jensen’s fingertips when he has to hold him from squirming (maybe off, maybe closer). Wet-choking little somethings between Jensen’s legs, graze of unskilled teeth. Endless softness against Jensen’s mouth and face.

He usually warns before he comes but doesn’t feel like it this time. It’s no surprise anyway; kitten reads him like a book, always does, and he lets himself shake apart in her eager grip, her warm, warm mouth. She slurps just because she can, finally can, and she’s a good girl with how she cleans him all up but is a bad girl by smothering his moans with the insisting weight of her ass. When Jensen thinks about it, it’s really pretty fucking filthy. But that’s just how it works between them. How Jared works. If the teen likes it, it can’t be that outrageous, right?

Boneless legs take them back to the cabin. It’s too early to have dinner yet, so Jensen whips up their trustworthy favorite of ice tea and sandwiches. He ends up finishing more than half himself, even though he hand-feeds Jared on the porch.

“I bought ice cream.”

Interested (calculated?) flick of doe-eyes from underneath Jensen’s armpit. Jared is sun-warm even in the shadow. The thumb hooked into the belt loop of Jensen’s pants sneaks some skin contact.

Jared is quick with his brain but he’s downright criminal with his mouth.

“I’ll eat it if you finger me.”

Kind of fuming, kind of with his tail tucked between his legs, Jensen marches inside to get lube and a sundae the size of Jared’s hunger for Jensen’s soul.

He doesn’t tell Jared about the toys deep, deep in his suitcase, the ones Jensen bought throughout the past few weeks with a funny twist in his stomach and balls. Impulse purchases, kinda, because god, kitten isn’t ready and Jensen is even farther away from that ready, but they _were_ made, and he _has_ them, upstairs, taunting him, making his mouth water.

But now, ice cream.

Jared glares at the treat with a menace he would never put upon Jensen (oh dear god please, never) but ends up accepting the first spoonful simply because he gets it kissed into his mouth by Jensen. Chocolate and strawberries and cream, but Jared still tastes best.

Jared gathers his daddy-long-leg legs on the Hollywood swing, drapes down onto his side, one elbow propping him up, knees up to his chest, halter of his dress falling from his shoulder. His mouth might be wrapped around the spoon, but his eyes are all Jensen’s.

Seated on a cushion, pretty sweaty, pretty nervous, Jensen doesn’t exactly know where to start. What starts with a caress of Jared’s upper thigh turns into shoving that dress over that hip and ends with Jensen’s tongue on and kind of in, well.

Even here in the shadow, it’s more than bright enough to see it so clearly. Pulling the cheeks apart makes the wrinkles flatten out, leaves Jared all pink and spit-shiny and smooth. Jensen laps at it, again, just for himself.

Kitten’s leg twitches up and away some more when Jensen thumbs at her tiny pucker then. Jensen revels in it just as much as in the sound of the spoon grazing through the bowl over and over again.

Absolutely no resistance on the push inside, not until it’s in up to the nailbed (and Jensen doesn’t go farther without lube even though he probably could, no). Such a soft give. So welcoming, trusting.

Half-joke, half-confession, and Jensen smiles helplessly, feels a lump forming in his throat. “I’ll ruin you.”

“Yes.” Kitten swallows sugar-dairy-strawberry and urges, “Want you to.”

So the world has been almost in order up to here, up to Jensen twisting his tongue in this tiny little asshole, begging for it to ease up even more while lubing his index finger. He licks at his lips, holds his breath at the first slide into Jared’s pink and lets it go with the pressure of his heartbeat. He watches, mesmerized. The spoon is silent for almost too long but then picks up before Jensen can even open his mouth to scold.

Two joints deep, Jared is all silk, all slick and tender and crushing. The drag back is almost unbearable, leaves Jensen’s wet finger so lonely, so cold against the humid air. Back in and Jared’s body melts with a stifled sigh. Jensen breaks his hypnosis to lean up to her mouth, shares her deepest taste with her and gets sweet ice cream in return, a trembling lip, an overwhelmed flare of nostrils. Jensen is trembling, too.

The kiss of webbing of fingers pushes Jared’s hips out for more. Jared doesn’t hold back his sigh this time. His eyes are closed in bliss, mouth absently suckling on the spoon, and Jensen can’t decide between staring at Jared’s face or the goosebumps on Jared’s thigh or the soft rolling motion of his lower body.

Jensen ends up buried two fingers wide. The white cotton of kitten’s dress is precome-transparent before Jensen has the decency to flip it over and away, lets her leak against empty air instead. She squirms at that, mutters something sweet, lets her head fall back. Her nipples are so hard the dress is completely useless in covering her at this point. Jensen’s wrist aches along with his tucked-away cock, his heart, his brain.

He keeps working her sweet spot until the bowl is empty. She doesn’t come, but is as wet as if she did. Because Jensen is a fair man, he cleans her up.

(Maybe if he actually gets her to eat the entire box, she’ll start tasting like it. And maybe Jensen doesn’t like the idea.)

~

Jensen gets them to dinner with the polite distance of a coffee table between them. He brought card games and feels old for that himself. Jared, of course, would never complain. (The kid would work on a car with Jensen if it meant spending time with him.) Jensen is not ready yet to tell him that being in a relationship means looking out for yourself too, because that would mean admitting that this is a relationship.

Three servings of barbecued goodness later, kitten holds her stomach and complains that she is, believe it or not, _full_. It takes both of Jensen’s seemingly almighty hands and Jensen’s mouth to soothe her pain. Jensen rubs her as if she’s an actual tiny kitten whose tender little insides can’t get the work done themselves. No way Jensen will let that happen.

As far away from the cities as they are, the stars are almost unnaturally bright. The grass is still warm, just like the earth underneath and just like the two of them. No need for a blanket. Let grass stains come; it’s worth the sensation on their backs.

Kitten breathes sweetness against Jensen’s nose, peppers little kisses. “I want to be like this for you forever. I think that’s my worst nightmare—waking up and you not wanting me anymore.”

“That won’t happen,” sighs Jensen. “I actually might like you even better all grown up.”

“But what if I get all tall and ugly and...?”

“Impossible.” One hand on Jared’s cheek, mouth always-hovering in mid-kiss. “I’ll love every inch of you, promise.”

Mainly, Jensen is surprised how the word makes him feel.

Jared just. He stills, then doesn’t stop moving or heating.

Jensen’s dizzy even before he gets an elbow in his face with how frantically they suddenly need to take off their clothes, tastes a little blood because they knocked teeth too hard.

Warm and clean and soft. Jared’s hands in his hair, vice versa, holding close.

It’s true, it’s true.

~

Jensen’s eyes open first.

The unfamiliar room confuses for the first waking moments, then he remembers, then he closes his eyes again. Tests his hand, finds it wedged under-around his kitten, warm-close under the thin scratchy blanket one of them must have pulled over them half asleep last night.

Jensen curls up against Jared’s back, smiles into a first kiss to the back of that slender neck at the slow memory of piggy-backing Jared upstairs. Jared barely stirs, makes a face. His tiny bare ass smothers the hard line of Jensen’s morning wood.

Jensen rolls his hips up-close and holds Jared tight.

Doesn’t take long for Jared to take notice of what is happening, turns artistically wide over his shoulder to mutter his, “Hm, hey,” right up against Jensen’s mouth, gets licked, licks right back. Makes another sound, even sweeter than before.

Jensen holds him by the hips and humps up against that tiny tailbone.

“Mornin’.”

“G’mornin’,” hums Jared before he lets his head drop back into the pillow so Jensen can eat at his neck much better.

Jensen runs one wide palm from neck to chest to side, back up the ribs, stays with a quickly-stiff nipple.

“I dreamed’a you,” murmurs kitten, god, still sounds half-asleep, and Jensen’s already defiling him again.

“And what did I do?”

“Was a road trip.” Gentle tip of hips, rubs right back against Jensen’s rut. One darling hand on top of Jensen’s on his hip, the other reaching back to find some hair to hold onto, to ruffle through. “Got me a red dress an. The car’s red too, a pretty one. Got me a coke at the gas station, an’ then you ate me out on the hood of the car.”

Jensen-smile groans into a fluff of hair. He kinda wants to get him a red dress, now. Can see it already—pin-up pretty, cherry-mouth.

“Can we do that some day.” Not even a raise of voice, maybe won’t remember he asked that later, still too dream-drunk.

But Jensen of course says, “Yeah, yeah,” ’cause Jensen’s a fool and there’s a weird whirlwind in his stomach that makes his mouth all loose.

And his dick kinda wet.

The sun is already out but not present in their room, not behind the drawn curtains or behind closed eyes. Jared’s rolled onto his belly easy (too easy), one fawn-leg hiked up so Jensen can slot his mouth where he’s starting to feel comfortable. Pushes morning stubble against baby-tender and kisses the night from Jared’s furl.

“Nh, oh.”

Laps at bent-backwards cock, back to the other pink. Holds open, ruts himself over the sheets. Jared hugging the pillow to his face means kitten wants the deep kind of More and Harder, because otherwise those hands would be in Jensen’s hair now, urging him on.

Kitten is sleep-soft and wants to be taken care of today, it seems.

God, Jensen is hard. “Gimme a second.” And heedless.

Half stumbles and half falls to his bag, unzips and digs until he finds, meets Jared’s eyes over that sunburnt shoulder.

Jared looks torn between jumping up around Jensen’s throat all happy-crying or staying down doll-pliant. He decides for the latter but can’t help propping his ass up just a little higher, wets his eyes just a little damper.

“Mr. _Ack_ les,” he says, breathless like Jensen just proposed to him.

The toy is so tiny but Jared is even tinier, and Jensen’s fingers are shaking a little, his heart somewhere in his throat where it shouldn’t be, makes it hard to move his tongue or lips or mouth.

“If it’s too much—”

“No, it’s, it’s—please. _Plea_ se.”

The lube is strawberry-scented and makes Jared’s little ass even more candy-pink than it already is. Barely a difference between toy and flesh, really.

Jared’s dick quiver-pumps through the press in. Jensen is mesmerized.

“Does it—”

Kitten’s faster, gulps, “No no no don’t _stop_ , it’s good, feels good,” arches her back deeper and deep under Jensen’s free hand, allows the toy to slot in easier. There’s a breath being let out when it disappears for good. Suddenly, all Jensen has in his fingers anymore is a slim-slim cord.

One thumb up against where he just slipped something _in_ to, and he licks his lips at the easy give, the weight from the other side.

“Turn it on.” Almost inaudible, this baby-sighed deep into a pillow. “Please, please turn it on.”

Jensen shudders in sympathy as setting One starts unleashing itself over the clutch of his insides.

Baby’s first vibrator.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Jared curls, tosses; he can’t keep still anymore now. God, Jensen can relate—gets up to his knees while kitten squirms (still under his palm on his lower back), grabs his dick with his free hand and starts jerking it liberally now.

Huffs, “’S that what you wanted?” even though he knows better than anyone else how obsessed with toys Jared is, how longing and big-lipped he stares at his picture and link collection—bookmarks everything pink and girly, bunny and heart shapes, glass, plastic, silicone.

And this one is only a mere bullet, maybe three and a half inches long, one inch thick, and still he’s almost doubling over with his girl-high, “Yeah, yes, _yes_ ,” whirls his hips blindly to maybe find friction for his neglected dick that strains drippy against the sheets. Maybe it’s the thought, the implications of this being a real toy and not what kind of toy, what does it for Jared.

(Jensen later blames the sharp love-tap to Jared’s ass on sleep-deprivation.)

“God, baby, should see yourself right now, _Jesus_.” Can’t look away, doesn’t want to; thumbs kitten’s ass open to see slick convulsions around the hair-thin cord, that so-shy gape, and his hand is moving so fast on his dick this won’t take much longer.

Jared’s ass looks good striped in white. Looks good humping back against air, too, or when he cranes his neck back almost a hundred eighty degrees to be able to look up to Jensen, all wonder and horny-flushed.

Jared’s eyes roll movie-pretty at setting number Two.

Jensen stuffs a pillow under Jared’s hips so that he has something to rut into, and so he won’t break his back from pushing it out into the air so hard.

Those thighs quiver even before Jensen starts lapping his come off him, and they’ve done some kinky shit before, yeah, but Jared honest to God has never before made the kind of sounds he now puppy-huffs into the mattress.

Jensen can feel the vibration against the tip of his tongue, and he can feel Jared’s insides sucking on it and the toy and everything he’d feed in here, really, as he comes undone, untouched, on setting Three.

Jared states that he wants to wear it to breakfast, too. Chooses a baby doll dress in white lace, makes Jensen secure the remote on a leg garter at the very top of his thigh. Is already slicking up again when Jensen noses along there, nip-pulls at sensitive skin.

Toast with strawberry jam, coffee with milk. Jared fidgets through it all and makes Jensen want to get under that skirt with his hands. Or his head. Or both.

They take that to the porch though, the Hollywood swing—Jensen on his knees with his sweats dampening quick and nasty where his dick is prodding up at the front, Jared’s thighs opened so so far around his head, little naked feet on Jensen’s shoulders. Plucks at his own tits until Jensen can’t take it anymore and takes those over, too. Gets a throatful of come for that and licks his lips for it.

They’re too dizzy to brush their teeth until two hours later. The toy is already cleaned, dries on the edge of the sink, and Jared gazes at it with the kind of hunger Jensen can’t even fathom anymore.

“I want one that’s.” And he stops, maybe to ponder how to put his fantasies into letters. Falls gently back against Jensen’s chest, chews on his toothbrush. “That kinda. Moves. Inside.”

“You want to get fucked with it.”

Jared leans over to spit and rinse, then comes up to look at Jensen’s reflection.

“Yeah,” he says.

_It’s too big, it’s too big, this is too much._

Past-Jensen was so worried and so thoughtful, it’s almost sad.

On his knees, chest flat on the bed and arms uselessly reaching back to cup the backs of his thighs, Jared pushes back onto the toy quicker and earlier than Jensen could have expected.

One fat glob of spit adds to strawberry, brings in some mint, and Jared sighs like love for it.

If Jensen could blush anymore, this would be the time.

“More, more, please—” A gentle push and Jared’s keening, shoulder blades poking out. “Yes, _yes_.”

Keeping his age in mind, Jared watches (way) too much porn and has been longing for sex toys for (way) too long. Children shouldn’t be this greedy, right? Jensen wasn’t like that, he thinks to himself.

Jared. Jared is burning up for it. Shared little secrets with Jensen before, such a tiny glimpse into his teenage porn brain that Jensen still feels soiled from it even though it’s barely _been a glimpse_ —stuck in a small town, no access to anything (still is a kid, for god’s sake); of course he dreams and starves.

(Jared told him the first time he stuck his finger up his ass and liked it, he was maybe twelve.)

Jensen twists the toy so kitten can shudder around the friction, can make out the shape. Straight but for the bulbous head; only almost-phallic. Just right.

Jensen starts slow. Watches the drag of kitten’s clutching body on the way back, how easy it flirts back and forth in the air. Like the dildo is a hook instead, a string to pull this puppet along.

Jensen is standing, naked, is hard again. He uses his right hand, the strong hand.

“Gotta tell me when it’s too much,” he reminds, and picks up the pace.

Kitten is quiet. Her pussy isn’t.

Jensen watches her bite her lip. How her face is so so flushed, like her rim. The latter stretches obscenely when he drags out to the fattest part of the tip. Almost held open. Back in.

When the slight bend becomes too much, Jensen sits down on the bed instead, brings his face in close to where slick is prominent and loud, makes his ears ring and his dick twitch.

Mouth-ghost over tailbone; it sticks out so visibly. “Want me to make you come, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” Jared sighs instead, “Wanna suck your dick,” and, yeah, okay, yeah, Jensen can get with that too. He fits himself underneath her, holds the toy still until they’re settled, groans at the quick suction around the crown of his cock.

“Baby, go slow, go slow,” and he mutters that with shut eyes and stutter-fast wrist. His free hand roams along the long line of body on top of him, wants and needs to feel everything, _have_ everything.

Jared’s head bobs up-down-down like a dream, on elbows and knees and Jensen’s eyes tear up.

He wakes to the grumbling of his stomach at three PM, gets them honeydew melon and coffee and water and PBJ toasts with the crust still on. They eat in bed, make out afterwards. They lose a spoon and Jensen eventually finds it stuck to his back, between the pillows, hours later.

Hours blend. The sun falls. Jared wears a tight skirt and an airy blouse, blows bubbles in the field while Jensen gets the grill ready. They blow some together, and Jared laughs when Jensen tickles him all over, sets the table like any good boy would. Tucks his hair behind his ear, blabbers about hair and hairstyles and whatnot he’d like sometime, one day, when school’s finally done, when he can finally be himself. Asks Jensen over salad and steak about his girlfriends, what he loved about them, what they looked like. Jensen tells him everything, everything he wants to know.

Jazz records. Jared listens politely, draped over the armrest of the sofa like a drawing.

Pinks up at Jensen’s passing, “What music do you like, anyway?”

“It’s. I don’t think you’d like it.”

Jensen smiles around his glass. “Humor me.”

Sad women singing about all the things kitten wants to be, is, longs to be able to retell one day. Jared’s Ipod spells toys and drink names, Lana and Melanie and dolls, pussies and heartbreaks, and Jensen tries to sink into it with the headphones in and his baby seated warm in his lap.

Only when he asks Jared to hook it up to the recorder, play it over the speakers—then, it works.

Maybe has almost nothing to do with Jared mouthing along, fingers and toes tapping, cheeks alit in dream-shades, lashes a little lowered so he can see the pictures painted on the secret insides of his eyelids.

No, Jensen doesn’t like this kind of music, but he loves what it does to _Jared_ , and isn’t that almost the same?

Kitten says she wants to sleep outside tonight, if Mr. Ackles would like to come along and that if not, it wouldn’t be a big deal; it’s just so magical, she feels so free, you know?

They go back inside at five in the morning, when the sun starts to rise (way too early).

Jensen has to sit up and choke on his heart, because the bed is empty. Runs downstairs in nothing but underwear, but kitten’s nowhere to be seen.

He finds her on the porch, cradling a book and a cup of coffee, and so surprised over Jensen’s sudden entrance that she almost drops both. Jared pulls his headphones down and is flushing, hard, all the way down to his neck while he stutters about how he wasn’t sleepy anymore and sorry, sorry, are you okay?

“I’m sorry for taking your shirt,” he vows in front of the stove, flipping eggs for Jensen because he’s a housewife like that in some of his fantasies.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s just—” Hasty inhale, frustrated huff. Wipes his hands on his cargo shorts, the ones he wore in Jensen’s car. “It’s. I mean I like the dressing up, but.”

“Does it get too much.” No question here; Jensen pales.

“No, I’m—look, I like being a girl but today I feel like _this_ , so.”

Jared (kitten) gestures down his (her) body, has to explain how it works to the man who’s exploited it for so long now.

It’s not often nowadays that Jensen crashes in it this hard anymore, but sometimes he does.

Jared leaves him his space until they both can’t take it anymore. Tiny weight in Jensen’s lap; God, he has to get lunch going soon. Kisses apologies into Jared’s mouth, lets the kid hold him and tell him sweet things about the structure and texture of all that wonder Jensen Ackles is to Jared Padalecki.

All sandwiches disappear. Then Jared keeps reading. Jensen eventually crawls on the blanket to him, big-spoons him with his chin hooked on that baby-shoulder. Lets Jared explain how he saw the book in the living room, thought he’d give it a try; kinda likes it. Gandhi’s biography—Jared has all kinds of fleeting interests, digs into everything and nothing.

He’s still so unbent, so open. Jensen envies that, but it pains him, too, to be a (the biggest) part of what will change that eventually. Already is changing.

“You don’t think I’m sexy when I’m like this.”

An accusation that hits and hurts, hard, and Jensen can’t exactly recover when Jared keeps looking at him like that, like he’s somehow _sorry_.

“No, it’s. It’s.”

They keep walking, side by side. Below the knee, Jared wears nothing but the nail polish on his toes.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs after another mile, shrugs. “I wouldn’t fuck myself either.”

Boy-thighs quiver up against Jensen’s, and even though Jared whines when he shoots all over the living room rug, he doesn’t even try to shuffle away when Jensen won’t stop. Sobs a little louder, maybe, but bucks his back like some miniature bull. Maybe wants Jensen all plastered over himself, stuck to his skin. Well, he’s certainly getting there.

“Hold this.”

Fingers take over on the toy, do exactly what Jensen asked for—hold, not move, and Jensen comes weakly but he does come to this image:

Jared’s ass, spread wide around the rainbow colored dong that shouldn’t be this hot, not in a million years, but it’s flush to that candy-rim and Jensen’s a damned man, he is, he is.

Jared’s on his knees and face but it’s Jensen who’s pitiful.

~

“Promise you won’t forget. Promise.”

_That this is not a one-time thing. That we’ll come back out here one day. That you’ll still look at me like that once we’re back home. That you’ll smell wheat and strawberries and think of me._

Jensen, seldom honest but honest where it counts, says, “I do.”

~

Jared’s got an impressive tan now, but the biggest achievement he’s taking home is Jensen’s heart, on a string.

“I’ll miss you. God, I’m al _ready_ missing you.”

Jensen tries to keep his attention on the road, tries not to glance over to the wet in Jared’s eyes, to drown in the shy pluck-pluck of naked fingers on his knee.

“Mister, let’s just turn around, they. They won’t mind, I could just...”

“For fuck’s sake, Jared, just call me _Jensen_ already!”

He didn’t mean to say it that loud. (But meant to say it; has been for a while.)

It makes Jared quiet. Doesn’t make him cry, no, but he’s especially gentle and thoughtful on the last kiss. Shadowed in the parking lot, train about to leave in what Jensen calculated to five minutes.

Kisses Jensen so so sweet like he’s the most precious, the most loveable, like they have all the time in the world.

“I love you,” whispers kitten. “I love you so much.”

Jensen says, “I love you too,” and now it’s only three minutes left.


End file.
